


Eddie Van Who?

by agent_starbuck



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Car Sex, Episode: s04e20 Small Potatoes, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-04 20:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18611506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_starbuck/pseuds/agent_starbuck
Summary: He’s all too aware of the realization that Scully would’ve kissed him– Eddie– had he not interfered. In the seconds after he broke into her apartment and saw his doppelgänger hovering over her, he was almost in disbelief at how willing she appeared to let him kiss her. In the aftermath of it all, however, he just kept telling himself that it wasn’t really him that she wanted to kiss. It was some romanticized version of him made up by Eddie, coupled with her lowered inhibitions from the alcohol.Originally posted on Tumblr. Rating changed from Teen to Mature because of chapter 2.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small drabble set after Small Potatoes. Lots of angst. I’m sick in bed with a cold. It’s raining out. This is the result. It’s been a while since I’ve written, so be kind.

He almost feels like laughing. Almost feels like scoffing at Eddie’s meager attempts at poking fun at him, at the life he lives. It’s not the first time he’s ever been called a loser– at least not in so many words. 

 

_Spooky. Obsessed. Loner. Weirdo._

 

These epithets he wears proudly on his skin like battle scars, each one cutting to the core of who he is, challenging him to prove them wrong, to rise above all the petty name-calling. His skin has become so thick, an armor against those who think him nothing but a joke with a badge and a gun, that he half expects Eddie’s words to bounce off him and fall flat to the ground.

 

Instead, they penetrate his usually infallible armor– that impregnable wall he so judiciously throws up in the face of those who aim to ridicule him, to belittle and mock him– that he scarcely has time to mount a proper defense.

 

He wasn’t expecting this when he decided, against his better judgement, to come here today. Not from that perverted man-child sitting across from him, behind a wall of protective glass, wearing that ridiculous ‘Superstar!’ cap.

 

Maybe it’s the fact that these words are coming from someone who’s lived in his shoes. Someone who, by all accounts, is the epitome of being a ‘loser,’ yet still has the audacity to throw that title back in his face.

 

_'Eddie Van Blundht thinks I’M the loser?’_

 

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been almost a month since he barged in on his partner and Eddie getting a little too close for comfort, or the strain it’s put on their relationship ever since.

 

Whatever it is, though, a fog of uneasiness settles in the air around him. He leaves before he does or says something he’ll inevitably regret. He knows Scully is in the hallway, carefully watching their interaction through the tiny, black and white monitor.

 

He crosses the threshold into the hallway, but he can’t meet her eyes. He’s afraid of what he’ll find in them if he does. Pity, maybe.

 

They walk in uncomfortable silence, the squeak of their shoes echoing off the cold, brick walls the only sounds heard between them. The harsh smell of disinfectant and dirty mop water circulates through the stale air, and Mulder feels as though he might suffocate if he doesn’t get out of here and fast.

 

He fiddles anxiously with the buttons on his sleeves, before he hears Scully’s calm voice anchor him back to reality.

 

“I don’t imagine you need to be told this, Mulder, but you’re not a loser.” He can practically hear the amusement in her tone. She means well. She’s trying to keep things light between them.

 

It doesn’t work.

 

Instantly, a bitter response forms in his head, and he attempts to keep the words from spilling out of his mouth before he realizes it’s too late.

 

“Yeah, but I’m no Eddie Van Blundht, either. Am I?”

 

Finally, he chances a look at her. His vulnerability laid out bare for her to see. It’s the most honest thing he’s said in a month. She’s mulling his words over in her head, her brow crinkled, formulating a calculated and precise reply– like she always does– and something in him snaps.

 

 _‘She doesn’t get the luxury of responding with her well thought-out, emotionally detached answers,’_ he thinks. _‘Not today.’_

 

He picks up the pace, spotting the large, metal, double doors at the end of the hall, and he’s drawn to the light filtering through the tiny windows like a moth to flame. His partner’s stride speeds up in an attempt to match his pace as he reaches the doors, and barges through to freedom. They swing open dramatically, and slam against the brick wall with a loud bang.

 

“Mulder– Mulder, what are you? Wait!”

 

The fresh, humid spring air fills his lungs, and he finally feels like he can breathe again. He resumes his quickened pace with renewed vigor, fighting back the juvenile urge to break off into a full-on sprint. He’s got so much nervous energy coursing through his body, he feels like he could run miles. Which is good, since they’re parked about five and a half blocks away.

 

He can hear Scully fighting to keep up behind him as he continues down the street. A gust of wind suddenly blows against him, tossing his tie up and over his shoulder. Rain clouds swirl overhead, swallowing the final rays of warm sunshine, as a storm brews on the horizon.

 

“Could you just– just slow down a bit?! Mulder!” she calls after him, clearly exasperated.

 

He abruptly stops and turns on his heels. Scully practically slams into him with the momentum of her near-sprint, a look of annoyance and surprise written on her flushed face, as she smoothes her hair back in place, and stares at him pointedly.

 

She doesn’t step away. But neither does he.

 

“You want to tell me what the hell has gotten into you?!” She’s seething with anger now, her jaw jutting forward in defiance, breaths coming out in short pants.

 

It seems funny to him, in this moment, what a sight they must be. Him towering over his petite, fiery, red-headed partner with his hands on his hips, hers folded across her chest, as they stare wildly into each other’s eyes…

 

But it’s in this moment that he realizes this is what he’d been missing these last few weeks. THIS. Passion. Emotion. Anger. Hell, anything but the apathetic glances and half-hearted attempts at awkward banter they’d subjected themselves to ever since Eddie came between them that fateful night.

 

“Do you really want to know, Scully? Are you _sure_? Because, to be honest, I don’t think you’re ready to open that can of worms.”

 

“Don’t patronize me, Mulder. Don’t you dare treat me like I’m some fragile, emotional female who can’t handle what it is you want to tell me.”

 

“That’s just it! You’re the opposite of emotional!” he raises his voice now, throws his hands up in the air for dramatic effect. “You haven’t even spoken about that night! About what happened with you and Eddie! What are you so goddamn afraid of?! That I’ll judge you? Think less of you because you almost kissed a criminal! It wouldn’t be the first time!”

 

He hears the sharp slap of her palm against his cheek reverberate through his ears before he even feels it, his eyes slamming shut of their own volition, fire spreading from the point of impact across his entire face.

 

A cold, heavy raindrop crashes against the skin on his cheek, nearly evaporating from the heat of it, followed by another. Then another. Slowly, he dares to open his eyes.

 

Scully is staring at him through thick, wet lashes. Whether they’re wet from the rain or from her own tears, he can’t tell. Her expression changes from one of hurt to disbelief to regret in a microsecond. She averts her eyes.

 

“Mulder, I– I thought he was you.” Her voice is small, broken. Unsure.

 

His heart sinks into his stomach.

 

He’s all too aware of the realization that Scully would’ve kissed him– Eddie– had he not interfered. In the seconds after he broke into her apartment and saw his doppelgänger hovering over her, he was almost in disbelief at how willing she appeared to let him kiss her. In the aftermath of it all, however, he just kept telling himself that it wasn’t really him that she wanted to kiss. It was some romanticized version of him made up by Eddie, coupled with her lowered inhibitions from the alcohol.

 

The rain starts to pick up, now, pelting heavily against his back and shoulders, making the material of his dress shirt cling uncomfortably to his skin. He stays frozen in place.

 

“You thought… it was me?” He raises his voice to overcome the deafening sound of rain falling around them.

 

She manages a small nod, an affirmation of what they are both so afraid to admit, as droplets of rain trickle from her face and lashes. Her hair sticks to her damp cheeks, and he feels compelled to tuck the unruly strands behind her ear.

 

“C'mon,” he urges, as he grabs her hand and guides them both through the deluge of rain to an abandoned, covered arcade between two buildings.

 

The sounds of their heavy breathing echo in tandem off the tiled walls around them. He ruffles a hand through his sopping hair, shaking the excess water from his strands, as Scully shrugs out of her damp blazer.

 

He stops midway through loosening his tie, his mouth suddenly gone dry at the sight of his partner without her oversized blazer, wearing nothing but a black, silky, sleeveless blouse underneath– her porcelain skin such a juxtaposition to the dark material of her shirt. He stares long enough to notice the small pinpricks of goosebumps popping up across her arms and chest before tearing his gaze away as he clears his throat.

 

She notices him looking at her, notices that hunger in his eyes, and immediately crosses her arms across her chest, rubbing at the skin on her arms vigorously in an attempt to stave off the shivers wracking her body.

 

“Scully, look–” he starts, looking up at her guiltily, unsure of what to say to make things better. “I’m sorry.”

 

That’s a start, at least.

 

“For which part? The ‘kissing a criminal’ comment? Or practically running away from me when I tried to talk to you like a reasonable human being earlier?”

 

“For both. For all of it.”

 

“God, when did we become so bad at this?” She sighs as she leans against the wall, hugging herself tighter. “I know we’ve always been a little inept at speaking our feelings, but I thought we’d gotten better over the years. It wasn’t until you– he– came to me that night with the wine bottle and an invitation to just… talk… that I realized how much I needed that. From you.” She looks away, nervously biting at her lip. “I thought we were making progress. And then it was all a lie.”

 

He lets her words sink in for a moment before stepping into her personal space, willing her to meet his eyes.

 

“I didn’t know, Scully. I didn’t know that you wanted something more from me. I didn’t even think it was in the realm of extreme possibility that you would want to drink wine with me, and talk about things other than work–”

 

He leans forward slightly, lowering his voice.

 

“– that you would want me to kiss you.”

 

Her eyes drift shut as she lets out a shaky breath at his words. Her reaction emboldens him.

 

“Because I gotta tell you, Scully, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about kissing you.”

 

She finally meets his gaze through lidded eyes, his face inching dangerously close to hers. His heart is hammering against his chest. He can scarcely believe they’re doing this right now.

 

“Then what’s stopping you?”

 

Her voice is barely a whisper. He feels, more than hears, her spoken words ghost against his lips, and a shudder runs through him. He presses his full weight atop her, pinning her against the unforgiving wall, as his mouth hungrily seeks hers, his body on auto-pilot. He couldn’t stop himself right now even if he wanted to.

 

She gasps into his mouth, and he reaches up to cup her cheeks in his hands as he drinks her in. He’s never experienced a thirst like this before. He’s completely drunk on the feel of her wet, soft lips sliding against his. Her hands sneak around to hook in the waistband of his trousers, and he groans, turning his head to deepen the kiss. She nips at his plump bottom lip, he sucks on her top one. Already he feels himself harden against the damp material of his slacks, pressing against her belly, and he almost forgets for a moment that they are in a public place.

 

Reluctantly, he breaks away to catch his breath, leaning his forehead against hers as he strokes her cheekbones with his thumbs. His head is swimming with such love and desire for this woman in his arms, he can hardly contain himself. Her breath is hot and heavy against his face. It’s almost his undoing.

 

“Scully–” His rough, low voice breaks under the emotional weight of what just happened between them. “Scully, I, uh, would like to continue kissing you, but I’m afraid what I have planned next would get us both fined for public indecency.”

 

She pauses a moment before a playful smirk breaks across her lips.

 

“How far away is the car?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after they finally make it to the car? Lots of fluffy, smutty goodness. That's what.

She’s running through the rain, the blazer draped over her arms and head a poor excuse for an umbrella, while Mulder’s hand grasps hers tightly, leading them down the street to the car, and the absurdity of it all suddenly hits her full force…

 

She just kissed Fox Mulder. In the rain. In public.

 

Actually,  _kissed_  is a rather conservative term for what they did back there. She feels like a giddy teenager again, sneaking out of fifth period art class to meet Marcus under the stairwell for a little extra curricular activity.

 

The Dana two years ago would’ve never done this.

 

Hell, even the Dana six months ago would’ve blushed wildly at the mere notion of making out with her partner on a public street. Or anywhere, for that matter.

 

However, the Dana six months ago didn’t have an inoperable mass growing in her sinus cavity, either.

 

They finally make their way inside their rented Taurus, soaked from head to toe, panting heavily while staring at one another and smiling like absolute idiots.

 

“This is crazy, Mulder.”

 

“No, I, I, I beg to differ,” he replies between breaths as he looks down at her with a sly smirk. “This might be the most sane thing we’ve ever done.”

 

“Considering our line of work, you wouldn’t be entirely off ba–”

 

“No, no… it’s, uh, not just that.”

 

As if a switch is flicked, his demeanor changes from flirtatious and light to pensive, and she raises an eyebrow in response. She notices him swallow thickly, his gaze fixed straight ahead, the muscle in his jaw clenched tightly.

 

The rain is still battering relentlessly against the car. There is nothing said between them for what feels like an eternity, and she waits. And waits. And  _waits_. Until finally his voice bleeds through the haze of her own inner reflections.

 

“Crazy is… leaving work at the end of the day only to go home and count the minutes until you can walk back into that basement office again. Not because you’re actually excited to work, but because you get to see the person you work  _with_. Crazy is feeling that ache every time you lay in a hotel bed staring at the adjoining door, hoping against all hope that tonight would be the night you could muster the courage to slip into your partner’s room, and show her how you  _really_  feel.”

 

“Mulder, I–” she chokes out. A blush takes residence in her cheeks, and she bites her lip shly at his bold admission.

 

“Just-- let me finish,” he interrupts softly.

 

“Crazy is– is random late night phone calls, just so you can hear your co-worker’s voice because it’s the weekend, and forty-eight hours is entirely too long to go without having your fix.”

 

He pauses to look her in the eyes. Deep, dark orbs of intense longing are reflected back at her, and it sucks the air from her lungs.

 

“Crazy is waiting nearly four years to finally kiss the person who means more to you than life itself.” He leans over to stroke her jaw tenderly. “No, I’d say what we’re doing now is the most sensible, rational thing we’ve done in a long time.”

 

She melts into his touch like she’s made of liquid, feels warm all over from his declarations, the feel of his molten skin on hers, the affection in his gaze.

 

“Well, uh,” she clears her throat. “I’d say, for once, you’re actually right, Mulder.”

 

“Oh ho ho, can I get you to write that one down?”

 

Turning her head, she nuzzles her cheek more fully into his palm. He leans toward her slowly, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

 

“In your dreams,” she says sultrily “I  _will_  say… that Eddie Van Blundht has nothing on Fox Mulder.”

 

Their faces drift closer and closer, and she finally feels the vapor of his words against her waiting lips.

 

“Eddie Van Who?” he breathes.

 

“Exactly.”

 

He steals her breath, then, with a kiss so hot and wet, she wonders how it is she’s made it thirty-three years without experiencing something as awe-inspiring as this. Those lips of his– so full, and perfect and plump– were absolutely made for kissing. He impatiently runs his tongue along her lip this time, teasing her, and she parts her mouth slightly to grant him access.

 

Needing more, she blindly reaches for his tie and tugs him so he’s practically hovering over her, and he lets out a delicious groan that floods her panties with arousal. If she’s being honest, she’s been wet since their earlier make out session against the wall– and it most definitely wasn’t because of the rain.

 

Their tongues swirl and dance around one another, and it makes her head spin with how badly she wants him. Her hands begin to roam and explore wherever she can reach.

 

God, that she’s allowed to touch him now, without consequence, is almost too much for her to bear. She doesn’t know where to go first, except that she needs to feel skin and she needs to feel it now.

 

Gathering a fistful of his damp dress shirt in her hands, she yanks the fabric from his slacks, and sneaks a hand underneath to tease along his back. His muscles twitch under her ministrations, and he gasps into her mouth.

 

“Ugh, Scully,” he finally breathes. “Maybe, we, ah, should find a more… covert location to continue our… activities.”

 

“I can’t wait, Mulder,” she pants as he dives back in to draw her earlobe between his lips. “Besides… we’re parked in an abandoned alleyway. I haven’t heard a car pass by since we got here.”

 

“Well, if someone does, they’re gonna be in for a hell of a surprise.” He works at the buttons on her slacks as he continues to place sloppy kisses along her neck, and a gush of fluid coats her fabric at the feel of his fingers there– oh so close. She slides her hands past the waistband of his pants, and gives his perfect ass a squeeze, eliciting a gasp from his mouth.

 

“Jesus, do you have any idea how badly I want you?” he groans, sliding down the zipper of her pants painfully slow. Her hips buck upwards in response, an impatient huff escaping her parted lips.

 

“God, Mulder– please.” She’s practically writhing against him now.

 

“Please what?” He murmurs against her shoulder, his hands toying with the lace on her panties. Slipping in, then out just as quickly.

 

“T-touch me,” she finally huffs out. “Please.” She’s never been this needy in her entire life.

 

His hand finally brushes past her soft, trimmed curls, into her waiting, silky heat, and she thinks she might black out from the rightness of it. A moan breaks free from her throat as he gathers moisture to swirl along her swollen lips, avoiding her clit, and she shudders beneath him.

 

“You’re so wet for me,” he breathes in her ear. “Do you feel that?” He slips a long finger in for emphasis before pulling back out. “Do you feel how wet you are?”

 

All she can do is nod and gasp in reply as his fingers work her expertly. She’s lost all sense of coherent thought and speech; been reduced to nothing, now, but her baser instincts– to touch and be touched.

 

He trails his lips along her jaw, leaving a path of saliva behind, as his thumb finds her clit, and sets up a steady rhythm. She grips the headrest behind her, her hips slowly gyrating against his fingers. He’s using the perfect amount of pressure and speed, and she feels the tension build deliciously in her lower abdomen. It’s not going to take long.

 

Her muscles quiver and quake in anticipation against his hand, and he can tell she’s close. A flush spreads across her chest, and she sucks on her bottom lip as he speeds up his pace against her swollen nub. He pulls back to watch as she reaches her climax.

 

“C'mon, Scully. Come for me.” he breathes, sliding two fingers in and curling upward while he grinds his palm against her clit.

 

Her eyes slam shut, and a breathy moan escapes her mouth, as her muscles tighten, then pulsate around his fingers. He swallows the sexy noises she’s making in a searing kiss, his hand continuing to work to prolong her orgasm. As the spasms start to subside, he pulls his hand out, and kisses her back down to earth.

 

“That was beautiful.  _You’re_  beautiful,” he rasps against her cheek. She can’t help the satisfied smile that stretches across her lips in response.

 

Reaching between them, she quickly unzips his trousers, and reaches in to pull his throbbing cock out of the opening.

 

God, he’s bigger than she could’ve ever imagined.

 

“Mmmm, so are you,” she purrs, stroking him with deft fingers from root to tip. His head falls to her shoulder, and he bucks into her firm grip.

 

“Jeeessus, Scully…” he moans, his voice low and thick with desire. “You keep doing that, and I’m not going to last.”

 

“That’s kind of the point,” she replies cheekily as she spreads the precum leaking from his tip over his head.

 

“You’re going to kill me, you know that?” he groans through gritted teeth.

 

“If you survive this, Mulder, there will be lots more where this came from when we get home.”

 

He grunts in reply as she adjusts her grip, and continues to stroke his thick member with increased enthusiasm. He feels absolutely wonderful in her hand. She wants to memorize every ridge, every contour. Reaching down with her free hand, she gives his balls a quick squeeze, and his cock twitches in response. She can tell he’s close by the strain in his muscles, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, breaths coming out in quick pants.

 

“Let go for me Mulder,” she whispers. “I want to watch you.”

 

His eyes snap open and a look of panic sets in. “Ugh, Scully, I don’t wanna– ah, where do you want me to– I'm… close.”

 

She knows what he’s asking, and she lifts up her blouse to expose her taut stomach underneath.

 

“Here,” she offers. He looks at her shyly, biting his bottom lip, and she thinks it’s equally the cutest and sexiest thing she’s ever seen.

 

“Mulder, it’s okay. Please.” She pumps him two more times and watches in awe as he reaches his climax. He lets out a throaty groan as his cock jerks violently, pearly white beads of semen shooting straight onto her belly. She has to keep herself from moaning at how incredibly hot he looks when he comes.

 

As she slows her movements, he rests his forehead against hers, struggling to catch his breath.

 

“So. How far away is DC, again?” he asks between lazy kisses.

 

“Mmmmm, about two hours,” she replies, tucking him back in and reaching for the tissues to wipe herself off. She zips up her pants, and they kiss one last time before he settles back into the driver’s seat and switches on the ignition.

 

“I bet I can make it there in one and a half hours,” he challenges. “Your place or mine?”

 

“Surprise me, Agent Mulder.”


End file.
